Lisa & Leah

We are two friends that met through our passion of reading, and decided to share our infatuation with other book lovers. We don’t believe in giving up on a novel, so we finish everything we read and write a review about our experience. We do not only share books we love. Every book is honestly reviewed regardless of the author and other readers feedback. We will never attack an author or reader, but will be honest about our personal opinions.

Lisa prefers to read Contemporary Romance and New Adult Fiction, Leah likes to read them as well but also enjoys paranormal.

Saturday, 31 October 2015

Melusine Doré is as practiced at guarding a secret as she is at wielding a weapon. Yet her past refuses to stay buried. Her worst fears are realized when Melusine and her companion, Levi, get called to hunt a beast in her birthplace of Malheur. The second she sets foot on her native soil, nothing proceeds as she planned: a beautiful tinker sets her sights on Levi, a gentle monster kills for sport, and an admission of love becomes a betrayal. Melusine comes face to face with the lies of her family’s past—and a truth that could destroy her.

Adventure number two in the Clockwork Siren series, Submerged takes us from the muddy trenches of steampunk Chicago to the sticky swamps of Louisiana to the slippery side of love.

The broadside under the heel of Melusine’s boot taunted,
MELUSINE DORE: FRIEND OR FIEND?

Good question, thought Melusine. It was the third headline
this week that sought to put Melusine in the same category as the monsters she
hunted.

She twisted her foot, the thin paper folding like an
accordion and ripping under the pressure. She would worry about the accusations
later. Now, she had a job to do.

She descended step by rotting step down a ladder and into a
muddy trench. The air was ripe with the odor of insects and stagnant water and
sewage. She tugged her chatelaine out from her corset and opened a tiny vial of
rosemary oil, dotting a drop of it directly under her nose.

Her boots squelched in the muck, her hands out on either
side, scrabbling the walls of the trench. The darkening night made it difficult
to see; she scraped against newly laid pipes and tripped over littered debris.
A fur-backed troll had taken up residence in the ditches dug for the new
pipelines that were intended to clean up Chicago. The creature had been making
meals of the workers, leaving nothing but picked-clean bones behind. If the
city wanted to move forward on its project to raise itself out of squalor and
sewage, the troll had to be taken care of.

An itch at the base of her skull told her she was close.
Fingering her chatelaine again, she unhooked a bag of goblin powder from the
links. She was at a crossroads of sorts, the trench tunneling both straight
ahead and to the right. To the side, almost completely hidden in shadow, was a
misshapen figure. Ahead of her was another one; she could just make out the two
bulging orbs of its eyes. As it stepped forward, Melusine threw the goblin
powder in its face. “Sweet dreams, little troll,” she said.

Levi Cannon. Now that she was closer, Melusine saw the
strange copper and glass contraption Levi wore strapped to his face. Night
goggles, his inventor friend Zahn’s latest design. Levi sneezed three more
times then took the glasses off. Already, even in the dim light, Melusine could
see the pink stain of irritation from the powder blossoming on his face everywhere
but where the goggles had been.

“I’m hunting a troll. Of course it’s goblin powder. What are
you doing here?”

The sneezing was constant now, and Levi had to speak in
gasps. “With the rumors…I just…wanted…to be positive…no one…would…try to
hurt…you.”

He sneezed an explosion, then yelled, “Behind you!” But
Melusine was ready. The back of her neck had been crawling at the monster’s
approach. She yanked her dagger from the sheath on her thigh and whipped
around, throwing the blade between the troll’s giant, milky eyes. The beast was
pale, its yellow-blue skin wrinkled, translucent and hairless but for the thick
rug of brown fur growing over its shoulders and down its back.

The dagger stunned it for a second, but then it let out a
gurgled roar and raced for Melusine. She readied the dregs of the goblin
powder, was just waiting for the creature to get close enough when clink,
clink, clink, pop, pop, pop, she felt the whizz of bullets passing over her
shoulder. The monster burst into a mess of fluids, tufts of brown fur covering
Melusine like an itchy blanket.

“A crank gun?” she moaned. “You planned on making a mess.
Admit it, Mr. Cannon.” She tried wiping the coarse fur off of her arms, but all
she managed to do was spread it around.

“Not unless you admit that throwing the goblin powder my
direction was not entirely an accident.” Levi was now scratching at his face,
the pink blotches growing red. “Ow! Tonight of all nights! You know I have an
appointment with a woman on Ashton Avenue to remove the gnome that’s taken up
residence in her garden.”

Oh, yes, Melusine remembered the elegant and beautiful
sophisticate who’d made the appointment. Who’d insisted that Levi come work
alone. Melusine held back a twitch of a smile.

“That’s tonight?” She took her dagger from the troll’s skull
and wiped the purple blood off on the leg of her trousers. Holding the blade up
in front of her, she inspected its cleanliness, the tip pointed at Levi’s
heart. “But what does it matter how you look? Surely, you were not planning on
seducing the lady?”

Levi set a gloved
finger on top of the blade and lowered it until the point was facing the
ground. His eyes stayed trained on her face, the intensity of them tugging at a
thread of longing stitched in Melusine’s chest.

“There’s only one woman who interests me,” he said. “I’d
kiss her now if I could, but my lips are beginning to blister.”

GRAB IT NOW FOR ONLY $.99!

Katie grew up in Racine, Wisconsin where she acquired an irreversible nasal twang and an addiction for books with a slightly dark edge. She now lives in Geneva, Switzerland with her husband, two daughters, and two fuzzy cats. She has been an avid reader of YA fiction for years. While she has a penchant for the paranormal, she devours a range of books -- along with popcorn and black licorice. She consumes all three in large quantities. Luckily, the books don't stay on her hips.

As a psychic, Jess Abrams knew pack life would fall into a downward spiral if she stayed after a drunken mistake. Her alpha was never going to sell her the bar she’d managed for years, and sleeping with him only ensured he would treat her worse. Taking life by the reins, she decides on a fresh start.

Edenton’s Alpha is more than happy to sell the vacant bar to the new werewolf. Years ago Slater lost his first mate. Now he avoids dating his wolves to prevent possible heartache.

Their attraction is unexpected and the last thing either wants. Resisting their obvious connection may prove impossible.

There’s a problem. Someone is plotting against Slater, wanting to take the pack for himself. He’ll use anything, or anyone, to achieve his goal.

Brandy L Rivers is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Her two main series are Others of Edenton and Others of Seattle. She has also written a couple contemporary stories. An avid reader, Brandy has always loved writing. She became serious about it as a stay-at-home-mother. Her secret lair, guarded by a pint-sized pound puppy who imagines himself a hellhound, contains a file full of manuscripts she plans to edit and put out with new creations she is constantly dreaming up. Living in rainy Western Washington with her husband and three kids, Brandy is already working on future stories in each of the series, and several other projects.

I want to say that woke me up, that I’m no longer in some lust-filled haze where I’m allowing a total stranger, an escaped criminal who is holding me hostage, to finger fuck me out in the open after just having spanked me. I would love to say that. I can’t. My head goes down and I groan at the feel of him sliding his fingers inside of me and stretching my walls. I haven’t been with a man in well over a year and just his fingers are tight, but it brings back memories of skin against skin, hot breath on my body, being filled by another person and being close to someone. They are all things that I’ve missed in the past year and none of those things my vibrator can bring me. Still, I shouldn’t be finding any of those things with Max. I should stop this before it goes any further, but I don’t get the chance. His fingers slide out of me and then his hand cups my pussy as he bends down to whisper in my ear.

“For however long this lasts, you will listen to what I say and obey me,” his harsh voice rumbles in my ear and it should scare me. It should infuriate me. Why do I feel the urge to do everything he tells me?

Author Bio

Baylee Rose is a small town country girl who loves everything about living in Florida. You will most likely find her on the beach watching the sunrise and letting her toes play in the sand.

She loves being surrounded by her husband and two children and spends her free time searching for a creative outlet, whether it's crafting, reading or writing. Baylee loves to hear from readers. You can always find her on her Facebook page.

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

What would you do if you were sent back in time for some unknown reason? When Brianna wakes up this morning she will be faced with that very question. Brianna lives in New York with her husband, the love of her life, Greg. She's happily married, has a great job, travels around the world and this year will be celebrating her birthday in style. Until the morning she wakes up in an apartment 3,000 miles from where she and Greg live, and seventeen years in the past! Returning to a life she hoped she would never have to think about ever again, much less relive!

I started writing at a very young age, mostly as an escape from the real world. It is something I have done on and off throughout my life, but never went so far as to actually try and get published.

I started my latest story, My Life As I Knew It, around 3 years ago. I was on a roll with it until I allowed life to get in the way. I am now officially picking up where I left off. It is the first book of a series on which I'm working.

I came up with the premise for this story while undergoing some pretty harsh challenges in my personal life. As mentioned before, I always liked writing as a means of escape. While going through these particularly tough times, I had a moment when I thought about what it would be like to go back in time and do certain things differently...which I'm sure almost everyone has thought about from time to time. I sat in front of my keyboard one morning, thought about what I would do if I had that chance and went from there.

How far would you go to save someone you love? Would you give up your body? Your mind? Your heart?

I did and it cost me everything.

He says he owns me. And it’s true.

I’ve signed over complete control of my body and life for six months to a man I don’t know. Five years he’s been planning this. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But my blackmailer serves it up white hot. He’s addicted to my innocence, and I’m addicted to him.

He likes to hurt me. I love to let him. He brings me to life. He sets me free. He makes my heart feel things it shouldn’t.

But he also scares me. He holds the fate of my brother’s life in his hands. A life behind bars for crimes I know he didn’t commit. My blackmailer can’t give up his revenge on my family, and I can’t be with him if he doesn’t. But I’m nothing more than a butterfly caught in his net. Do I really have a choice?

A. Zavarelli is a romance book junkie, cat lover, and traveler when plagued by intense cases of wanderlust. She likes all things chocolate, books that come with warnings, and pretty much any kind of characters that are dark and gritty.

Plagued by visions of murder, death and destruction, she has resigned herself to the nightmare her life has become. When an enemy from her past comes to her rescue, she must let go of old wounds and heal the breach so she may survive the evil poisoning her mind.

Rhys Stevens is guilty.

Murder. Betrayal. Treason. Take your pick; he’s guilty of them all. On the path of redemption, he must beg for forgiveness from the one person he fought to save - the woman he has always loved.

Thrown together in the trenches of war, they must work as a team to stop a monstrous puppet master from pulling their strings.

You’d ask what kind of psychic I am. Well, I’ll tell you: I’m the shitty kind. I see maybe ten percent of what I should, and I can’t change a fucking second of it. I see what I see, and then I brace because it’s going to happen. There isn’t a thing I can do.

Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s a waste of time, and it weighs too much on my heart.

And on my mind.

Let’s not forget about the tenuous hold I have on sanity. I just thank the universe I live alone now. How many times could I have woken a roommate, looking like a horror movie reject before I booked a one-way ticket to a padded cell? I’ve already lived through one involuntary incarceration under an insane Primary’s thumb; a repeat stay is not in my future.

I’d rather chew a bullet.

Hiding my abilities when under constant surveillance is almost impossible. I’m a Seer, born with the ability to observe things that will come to pass in vivid Technicolor inside my little noggin, hence that lovely dream. I also sometimes randomly electrocute people without meaning to. Well, sometimes I mean to, but not all the time, and that is pretty scary. If people weren’t already looking at me funny before, which they are because as a Seer, my eyes freak people way the fuck out, they would after I zapped the crap out of them randomly.

Then there’s the phasing. As a fledgling, I sometimes transitioned from my resting form to the ethereal without even trying. Meaning, when I got angry or upset, I would burst into flames, and my wings would pop out. I got angry a lot in those days.

Yes, I am a bloodthirsty little thing. No, I don’t have any problem inflicting violence when I deem it necessary. Yes, ‘when I’m pissed’ falls under the necessary column.

Okay, I should explain the eye thing. You see (pun intended) my eyes are a very pale, milky green. All the time. You remember old westerns where the old guy is blind, and he has those freaky eyes where the iris and pupil nearly blend into the sclera? Yep, you guessed it, that’s what’s going on here.

Only I’m not blind.

And I wear contacts when I go outside because if I don’t people assume I’m blind, for one, and their face says they are squicked way the hell out, for numero dos. Also, when I’m pissed they kind of, well, glow.

Annie Anderson is originally from Dallas, Texas but has lived in England, Las Vegas (because Las Vegas and the state of Nevada are two very different places), New Mexico, Illinois, Florida and Georgia. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two kids, and an old man of a dog.